Whisphers of the Heart
by Black-Angel-001
Summary: post 5x22, 'Swan Song', complete. Christmas has only ended a few weeks ago, but it seems that Christmas miricales keep coming when Sam shows up at the mechaniscs garage Dean works at. He still looks, talks, and acts like Sam, but something is off.
1. Chapter 1

**Whisphers of the Heart**

**Black-Angel-001: a little fluffy, some angst. loved the season finale, but it didn't feel finished to me, and when i looked back and saw that dean still didn't have his amulet, it clicked. so, here we go!**

**Disclaimer: No owning of Supernatural, and I would LOVE to own Jared and Jensen...preferably shirtles...mmmm, 'scuse me while I wipe the drool off my chin...**

**Whisphers of the Heart**

"Dad lied to me," Sam told him before offering the gift once more.

Dean still hesitated in taking it. Well, if that was the guage Sam was using for present worthiness, Dean figured he was just as undeserving as their dad. Dead had lied to Sam, for all of eight years and just lied again no more than ten minutes ago. So, if Sam wasn't giving the present to dad as intended for lying, why in the world was he giving it to Dean?

He looked at his little brother's face and read the slight loss of innocence there, the little bit of dullness in his eyes. Dullness that Dean had put there last night by telling Sam about the monsters.

And it suddenly made sense to Dean.

When Sam had confronted his big brother about the gun and the salt, Dean had denied it. When their dad's journal was brought out and Sam had stared at him head on and unflinching through Dean's last ditch effort to avoid the conversation, Dead had resigned himself and only asked for the promise not to tell dad.

It wasn't the whole truth, barely touched the tip of the iceberg, but Dean hadn't tried to deflect, avoid, or brush away the truth when Sam showed that yes, he knew something, and yes, any future trust was riding on Dean's response, even if they weren't really aware of that.

By answering as honestly as possible about the big issue, Dean was forgiven for the lie he told in trying to give Sam a good Christmas.

But, Dean had to make sure his conlusions were right, so he asked, "Are you sure?"

Sam nodded and pressed the package against Dean's knee again. "I'm sure. I want you to have it."

When the gold amulet fell into his hand, Dean was just a bit speechless. He didn't know exactly what it was and he didn't really care. His brother was giving him something special with the gift. It was an assurance that they were okay, they were going to be okay no matter what, that Sam trusted Dean always, and most important, Sam loved him. That was all Dean really needed.

_**Present Day**_

Castiel was gone back to heaven, getting things in order up there, Dean assumed.

Bobby was still up and walking, still hunting. He called Dean every so often to check up.

And Sam...Sam was gone, still in the hole he'd dragged Lucifer and Michael into with him. Still in Hell going through things Dean knew and could imagine and more than likely things Dean could never fathom. Dean didn't really want to try to imagine those anyway.

But his little brother had a few tricks left yet, and that seemed to inlude reaching Dean from beyond the grave at Christmas. The proof was in the package Bobby had sent Dean, with a simple note.

_Sam wanted you to have this, one way or the other...I know he'd have preffered giving it to ya himself._

Inside the package, a letter and a small square of something wrapped in newspaper. He read the letter first.

_Dean,_

_Well, this is it. I'm either dead or Lucifer's meat suit by now. Honestly, I'm kinda hoping for dead, if I had a choice between the two. Yeah, not exactly what you want to hear, I know. If my third option was living and still taking out the Devil, I'd take that one._

_Anyway, this is gonna get sappy, so here's your chick-flick moment warning._

_We've all agreed on how to stop Lucifer, and because even though I can keep it short and simple with Bobby and Cas, you deserve more than that. There's things I need to tell you, that you need to hear, that can't be said in the time we have. I can't-won't- let it go like that._

_You were talking about how grown up I was to still believe in you, after everything. That's not me being grown up, that's just me being Sammy, even if that faith in you did seem to be gone or screwed up. It wasn't ever gone, though, just so you know._

_I never stopped believing in you Dean, especially at the worst times._

_No, the grown up thing I did was to forgive myself and you. Yeah, I've finally made my peace with everything and most importantly, I forgive you. There's plenty of things to forgive, like when you put live tadpoles in Sally David's pockets and told her I did it. And I do forgive you the little stuff too, but I'm talking about the big stuff mostly, the stuff we never talked about and probably should have. Not telling me about Dad's final words, the deal, giving up, all of it. The things you did may have sucked, but you meant well, for me and other people and you were truely sorry later for most of it. Yeah, I know "sorry" doesn't mean much a lot of times when the hurt and anger are still there and fresh, but other times...it means everything in the world. So, I forgive you, for everything._

_You forgive me too, I know. Otherwise, you wouldn't have changed your mind about saying yest to Michael, and you wouldn't have gone along with my plan about the Devil. Some stuff will always be hard to swallow (I still try to get some things to stay down), like when I left for Stanford or left with Ruby. But, it'll eventually stop lodging in your throat and that's how you'll know that you've really forgiven yourself. I hope you'll be able to forgive yourself Dean. You really do deserve it._

_It never seemed I needed to say this before that lame ass time in heaven, but I realized after that year, it does need to be said out loud and not in some kind of messed up code._

_Dean, I really did, still do, want and need you in my life. When I ran away, it was so I could become better than what I was for you. I had to be sure of myself otherwise I never would be able wo watch your bak right. And for the record, that Thanksgiving with Jess and her family? I didn't want to go and kept wishing you were there. Just saying._

_Those were all rigged. I wasn't better off without you (those four months after you were gone proved that); hell, it was always worse. Can't take care of myself, that's what you always said. It's true, in a way. I rely on you, always have._

_Anyway, what I'm trying to say here is that it's okay. We're okay, in our own twisted way, but that works for us. It took me a while to figure it out (some college boy, huh?) but we still trust each other, we need each other, and we love each other. You can't deny it, I know you Dean. And I promised, no more lies._

_the end note here is that I hope you'll take the gift with this letter back. I'll understand if you can't, but remember, it's not about the failure in the search for God, and it sure as anything is not about failure on your part or mine._

_It's just...something really special._

_Remember, you're still my brother, jerk._

_Sam_

_PS Oh, and if you show up downstairs any time soon for any reason, I'm gonna kick your ass. Knock down heaven's door and kick angel ass that get's in your way, bro._

He read the familiar writing again and again, wiping his tears away quickly before they could blot the pages.

Sammy forgave him, and himself. A little bit of peace settled on Dean's heart, glad that it had happened. He was doubly glad that Sammy knew Dean had forgiven him, too.

The entire letter was a balm to Dean's aching heart and soul. It didn't make things better, not when Sam wasn't there to say it all himself, when Sam couldn't hear Dean say it all, but it helped. And damn Sam and his caring and sharing moods that worked. Dean turned his attention to the newspaper wrapping. He knew what was in it, but he just wasn't sure if he wanted it. Carefully, he tore back the tape and unfolded the wrapping. Sam still sucked at gift wrapping, he thought with a smirk.

Holding the worn piece of metal in his palm, the weight familiar and reassuring, the memories and emotions of the Christmas that Sam had first given the amulet to Dean came over him.

Dean considered the worn edges, the frayed cord, everything in his life.

Sam was absolutely right, it was something special, it represented something special.

It represented their bond as brothers no matter what.

Dean folded the letter, put it in his pocket, then slipped the cord over his head and around his neck. It felt odd and familiar against his chest and Dean touched it again, for just a moment. Then, he went to the Impala to go back to Lisa and Ben. He looked over to the shotgun seat and smiled, green eyes a little lighter.

Starting the car and staring at the road in front of him, Dean kept his smile and said, "Bitch."

If he pretended just a bit, he could hear Sam laughing next to him.

Yeah, Dean figured. They were okay.

**Black-Angel-001: i couldn't believe that sam would leave dean like that without saying something to him, besides the promise. you could just see in the episode that sam had something to say and that dean wanted him to say something but neither of them said a word. yeah, couldn't leave it like that. reviews are welcome and eagerly awaited.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Whisphers of the Heart**

Dean liked cars. He liked the smooth lines and sleek designs, and he could appreciate the newer models as well as the classics. He enjoyed the beautiful women that sometimes came with a car-on a strictly no touch basis of course. He especially enjoyed working on cars. Dean had always imagined that if he wasn't a hunter then he would be a mechanic, like his dad and Bobby.

Half a year of working in a garage was beginning to shift his views, though. Just the part about being a mechanic, not the rest of it, although his own business sounded pretty good, damn authorative bosses. Then there were the idiots who swore that it couldn't be the altinator, it's just a spark plug, not because years or even months of mechanical experience told them, but because they just knew. Freakin' dumbasses.

Dean was in a foul mood and it was showing. Ben was becoming a rebellious pain in the ass and Dean and Cassie were arguing more and more, mostly about how Dean needed to stop moping around and get over it, 'it' being five months of Sam gone.

_Five months, three weeks, and six days actually_, he though grimly while pulling roughly on a socket wrench.

Not that he was keeping track or anything.

Dean was itching to get into the Impala and just drive somewhere, anywhere, as long as there was open road in front of him. He wouldn't necessarily hunt, maybe a few salt and burns, just go to some shows, see the Grand Canyon. There had been a few road trips, but nothing out of state and nothing longer than a week. Dean couldn't handle the empty passenger seat, and he definetely couldn't handle seeing the Grand Canyon by himself, not when it had been something he and Sam had always planned to do together.

So it seemed he was doomed to stay in this town with a job he hated a little more each day, a woman who was beginning to resent him a little more each day, and a kid who was fond of reminding him that Dean wasn't his dad everyday.

Life sucked big ones at the moment.

"You ever find out what was making that ratteling noise?"

Dean raised his head so quickly he almost bashed his head on the hood. The socket wrench was in a white knuckled grip as he replayed the words and voice over and over in his head. It seemed like years since he'd first heard that sentance (it had actually but that was all semantics) and even longer since he'd heard that voice. The wording, the tone, the slight midwest drawl you couldn't always hear. Dean was back to that side of the road, under the hood and drinking a beer with Sam next to him, showing him the how to of basic mechanics, smiling and just being brothers.

It took him a minute to look out in the garage; if it had been nothing more than memory coming back to haunt him, Dean knew he would be heartbroken. The possiblity that it was his brother was practically non existant as it was, why give himself more anguish by proving that? But, deep inside, Dean knew that if he didn't look he'd regret it.

So he did.

There at the opposite end of the garage was a six foot plus man with shaggy hair, stripped button down with the sleeves rolled up, and faded jeans. Even from that distance, the man's voice carried and Dean could hear it clearly. When that shaggy head turned and Dean saw the familiar face, he knew.

For a moment, Dean had no idea what to do. He could only stare in shock and wonder and-thank you thank you thank you, thank you!- as he watched Sam move to a car with the mechanic, gesturing and doing the tilt of the head that meant he was a little confused. On autopilot and still reeling, Dean started moving.

"...don't know why you'd have to charge so much for something like that, if it's so small," Sam was saying and Dean's knees nearly gave away.

"Well, it's the shipping and stuff, and labor you know," the mechanic replied.

"You've got an autoparts store in town, don't you," Sam asked, barely glancing at Dean, attention solely focused on the man in front of him.

"Yeah, well," Pat started to say but he was cut off.

"And if this part breaks down commonly like you say, then they should have it there."

"Yes," came the guarded response.

"So...why do you have to order it in again, when you, or me, even, get that part from the store and it would save time and money on my end and possibly yours?" Pat's eyebrow twitched and Sam gave that little smile he always got when he'd found the right answer or won an argument. "Or maybe, that's the whole point, huh?"

Pat muttered something and stepped away but Sam stopped him dead with a chilly voice. "Don't bother, I'll call them myself, thanks."

The other mechanic stormed off. Sam shook his head, sighed, and pulled out his phone. Everything was so Sam, the movements, the way of speaking, the voice, even the way his sleeves were rolled just screamed Sam. Dean stepped forward, grabbing the younger man's attention.

"Sammy?"

There was that head tilt again, and the little furrow he got. "I'm sorry, I think you've got me confused with someone else."

**Black-Angel-001: yeah, soo...worth continuing? are you intruiged enough to want to keep reading? will i just be wasting my time? review and let me know! feedback = creative processes= more chapters! it's a proven mathamatical formula!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Whisphers of the Heart**

Dean could only manage to stand there, eyes wide and mouth slightly ajar as the words played again in his mind.

_"Sorry...confused me with someone else."_

An air gun went off somewhere in the garage and he shook himself out of his stupor. Dean grinned a little, just a little upturn of the corner of his mouth.

"Sam, you've pulled some pretty bad pranks over the years, but this is the worst one yet," Dean said, reaching out and gripping Sam's upper arm.

The youngest man's eyebrows went up and he pulled away, eyes darting around like he was looking for someone to help him.

For someone to help him against his older brother.

The thought was like a sucker punch in Dean's gut and he took a step back.

"Sam," he started.

"I told you, I'm not this Sam guy," Sam-but-not-Sam interrupted.

All the possibilities of what could be impersinating or possessing his brother ran through Dean's mind, but the most likely stuck out starkly in his hunter's mind. Eyes slightly narrowed at the idea that one of those deomon bastards had used Sam to get out of Hell, Dean muttered, "Christo."

Sam's eyebrows went up again. "Hey, look, I'm sorry you thought I was someone else but that's no reason to curse me in Latin."

Dean studied him carefully; there were no flinches, no inky black eyes, no shudders, no reaction other than that kind of irked statement in the bitchy/whiney tone only Sam used to perfection. So demon was out. A cold chill settled in Dean's bones thinking that maybe Lucifer had managed to get out and that he was using Sam up here for...wait. If Lucifer was back topside, then he would be unleashing hordes of demons and causing the world to end, not getting into some debat with a mechanic over a car part. And besides, if Lucifer had indeed gotten out, Castiel would've been down in a hot minute to tell Dean about it, right? Right. So, that just left...he ran through that hunter's list of nasties again. Way too many freakin' possibilities.

The upside to that?

Alot of them had similar tells.

All of this ran through Dean's mind in less than six seconds before he was replying, "Dude, how do you know Latin?"

This time an eyebrow was up in that 'Are you serious or are you just your deliberatly stupid self' kind of way (again, SO Sammy!). "I took it in college."

"Oh."

There was a bit of an akward silence that Dean hated but couldn't help because Sam apparently wasn't Sam right then; ergo, Dean couldn't go with his first reaction and hug the kid and Dean couldn't think of anything to say to Sam past 'Holy crap, you're back, you're alive, oh my god, what happened are you okay' and Sam just couldn't think of anything to say to Dean because apparently Dean was a stranger; ergo, the silence that grew akward.

When not Sam turned around to walk away, Dean quickly thought up a half-assed plan (like most of his other plans in the past) and acted before Sam (because it couldn't be anyone else, damn it!) got too far and Dean lost his nerve.

"Hey, hey, hold on," he said raising his hand to grip a shoulder but dropping it before contact was made.

Sam paused and half turned back, looking wary.

Dean put on his best 'don't mind me I'm totally harmless' grin. "Hey, I'm sorry man. You just really do look like this guy I know and everything so." Dean shrugged carelessly and looked at the wall clock. "Look, I'm off in two minutes, how about I buy you a drink to make up for it? I'll even give you a ride, if you want."

By then Sam was facing Dean again. His eyebrows furrowed, his head tilted a little then straightened back out and he shuffled his feet a bit. Dean grinned wider and stuck his hand out.

"Dean Winchester."

After a moments hesitation, Sam took his hand and shook it firmly.

"Jadon Nash."

Dean nodded. "So, how about that drink?"

When "Jadon" still hesitated, Dean used his own kind of puppy dog eyes. It worked mostly on getting women into bed, but when he used it just so, not even Sam could tell Dean no when combined with his most pathetic expression, which wasn't often.

"Jadon" suddenly grinned, dimples popping out and eyes lighting up and Dean could've cried at the familiar and much missed sight.

"Dude, are you asking me to a friendly drink or out on a date?" He lauged at Dean's sputtered attempts at a response and bumped his shoulder against Dean's easily, still grinning as he passed by.

Dean clocked out, bantered a bit with one of the guys he actually liked, and headed out with Sa-Jadon to the Impala.

Jadon nodded appreciatively at the classic car, impressed more with the condition of it that anything else.

"Wow," he said when they got to the doors. "Nice. What year?"

"'67, and she still runs like a dream," Dean said proudly while sliding in.

The younger man twisted around in his seat to look at the interior while Dean gripped the steering wheel until his kuckles turned white. To distract himself from his own memories and wishes, he reached over to the passenger floorboards to get the box he hadn't touch in five months. Jadon eyed the falling apart piece of cardboard.

"Dude, really?"

"What?" Dean paused in rifling through the tapes and looked up. "What's wrong the cassette tapes?"

"Uh, they're cassette tapes," grinned Jadon, leaning back in the bench seat and halfway against the door liked he'd done it a thousand times before.

Somehow, Dean got the words out of his throat despite the lump and constriction there. "House rules man. Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole."

If Dean had to clear his throat and casually wipe at his eyes through the trip, neither of them said a word about it.

**Black-Angel-001: no, dean isn't quite in character but what do you want me to do about it? he just sorta kinda not really got his brother back!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Whisphers of the Heart**

Veet's was a local bar that was clean, friendly, upbeat, and near a nice part of the downtown area. You could have a drink or a small meal while listening to live local music. It was definetely one of the better bars Dean had been in, and he enjoyed the company of the the other patrons, even the owner, who made regular apperances to chat with people and take and serve orders himself.

Dean and Jadon were two hours and three rounds in and Dean knew practically everything there was to know about the other man.

Jadon had lost his parents in a house fire at six months old, and had been bounced around the foster system until he turned eighteen and got a full ride scholarship to Stanford. He graduated top of his class and was working as a lawyer for one of the top firms in California He was engaged to a lovely up and coming artist and was headed to met her at her parent's place for a visit.

There were way too many similiarites between Jadon's history and Sam's, not to mention the looks. Dean had already confirmed that he wasn't possessed, he didn't react to the holy water Dean had slipped into the first beer, and when Dean had "accidentaly" cut him with his silver pocket knife there hadn't been anything. Dean had no explination for what was going on, but he knew that Jadon Nash was Sam Winchester.

Now all he had to do was figure out how to get Jadon to remember Sam. And to ignore the voice in his head saying that Jadon was Jadon and not Sam.

Another two hours later, Dean was starting to believe that voice. There were some things about the man's personality and habits that were just like Sam's but other than that and the appearance, nothing was the same. He flinched at overly loud noises, especially if the sound was metallic in anyway, he stayed away from fire like it was after him personally, he kept his back to the wall no matter what, avoided small areas, and when Dean had cut him with his knife, it had taken a long few minutes to convince him to stay and even longer for Jadon to stop looking like he might bolt. Maybe Jadon was like a doppleganger, a double or twin of Sam who had no supernatural relation and it was just one of those universal mirror things.

The idea was crazy to him, but when the two of them staggered out of the bar, grabbed the cooler from the back of the Impala and headed across the street to continue the drinking party at Jadon's hotel room, it was the best theory he had other than Sam was back.

When the door to the motel room opened, Jadon threw his jacket and keys on the little table motels always seemed to have and went directly to the second bed, the one furthest from the door. For a minute Dean forgot that it was Jadon and not Sam and didn't question why he would sleep in that particular bed; he just closed the door, plunked down the cooler, grabbed two more beers and flopped back down onto the other bed, eyes closed and sighing deeply.

"Hey, Dean?"

It took a second and a bit of rolling for Dean to sit up, but he managed it. Jadon had his mouth open like he was about to say something, but nothing came out. Instead he was staring at Dean's chest. Frowning, Dean looked down and only saw his amulet swinging lazily from his movements. Dean leaned forward to brace his elbows on his knees and ducked his head a bit to catch the hazel gaze.

"Yeah?"

Jadon blinked and looked confused, then put a fist to his forehead. "Uh...I wanted to..." He grimaced and hissed with pain, eyes scrunched closed and when he opened them again, there was total fear and even more confusion.

There was also the beginnings of recognition.

"Dean? Why..what're...?" Then his eyes were wide and he started to scream.

"Sammy!" The bottle of beer dropped from Dean's hands, forgotten, as he lunged forward to catch Sam as he fell. He knew Jadon was Sam, he knew it! But the moment of triumph faded under his brother's tortured screams and Dean had to clamp a hand over his mouth so no one would call the cops or come investigate. Sam writhed like he was in pain and tears leaked from his eyes as they went rapidly and unseeingly around the room. Dean started to rock Sam and murmur to him, trying to reassure him like he had hundreds of times before.

It wasn't working.

Dean was at a total loss on what to do to help Sam when he heard a flutter, felt the brush of a gentle wind, and then two fingers were pressed against Sam's forehead. Sam went rigid, eyes still wide, then he was totally slack and his eyes closed. The sudden change scared Dean, but the warm breath puffing against his arm where Sam's head had lolled to the side assured him that Sam was among the living.

Dean looked up ready to fight the newcomer and felt his mouth go slack for the second time that day.

"Castiel?"

**Black-Angel-001: cliffhanger, hanging from a cliff! and that's why he's called cliff hanger! wow, so jadon is sam and sam freaked out for some reason after suddenly getting his memory back and cas showed up. if it seems like there isn't a point to this, relax. there is. you'll just have to wait a little to see what it is. :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Whisphers of the Heart**

**Black-Angel-001: i'm glad you guys are into it so far, even if the whole 'amnesia' thing is a bit cliche...or is it amnesia?**

**Whisphers of the Heart**

Dean pulled Sam closer to him in a protective manner, even though it was Cas and the angel wouldn't hurt either of them. The action was a reflex and honestly, it was all he had for the moment. Cas looked like Dean remembered, and he wondered how that was possible, if Jimmy had been used again then decided he didn't really care. All Dean cared about was uncoinsious in his arms, not dead, not in Hell, and in a weird state of mind. For nearly a whole evening, Sam was Jadon and then Jadon was Sam and Sam started screaming like he was being tortured. Dean didn't know why that was or what caused it, but he was going to find out.

"Cas, what the hell, man? What's going on with Sam?"

"Dean," the angel said on a sigh and Dean _knew_ he wasn't going to like it.

"Just give it to me straight," he said in a hard voice. Sam slept on.

"Someone with more power than I have released Sam from Hell then bound and changed his memories."

The explination was simple and undetailed and Dean wanted more than that. He had to have more than that.

"Who? Why would they changed his memories," demanded the hunter. Castiel shifted a little on his feet.

"One of the cherubim, Jophiel*, brought him back and also changed his memories. His memories," at this point Cas trailed off and really looked uncomfortable, like he didn't want to to talk about it. He probably didn't. "Sam was the favorite to lead the most powerful demon army in Hell which has made him many enemies."

Dean rolled his eyes. He knew that!

Ignoring Dean's expression, he was used to it anyway, Castiel continued. "Combine that with the facts that he's your brother, Lucifer's vessle, and has sent many demons back to Hell, then the torture he was submitted to was...it was horrific. When he came back, his memories were completely intact and so he remembered what happened to him in the pit. Sam couldn't handle it and so before he went totally crazy, Jophiel bound his mind and changed his memories so he could function. Jophiel has been watching Sam to see if maybe his original memories could be restored, but so far it hasn't happened."

"Wait a minute. Angels can erase memories, right? Make it so it never happened? Why didn't this Jophiel do that with Sam? Why screw with everything?"

"Jophiel did try that already, Dean, but sometimes the memories are too powerful, too strong to be changed and it does more harm than good."

Dean looked down at Sam, still completely oblivious to the world around him. The entire situation fit right in with all the other screwed up aspects that detailed his life. Sam couldn't deal with memories of torture so everything was different. In Sam's new world, he didn't have a brother, or any other family. Dean technically didn't have a brother now. The thought was heartbreaking, almost as bad as knowing Sam was in Hell.

"So," he said quietly, "there's no way to help him, other than that?"

"We don't know. Jophiel is looking, and so are some other angels."

"Why are you back here?" Dean looked up at Cas again. "Why'd you come back if you're supposed to keep heaven in line?"

"When Sam was released, I was given the task of watching over him. I thought it was more important. Besides, others have taken control and all is still well."

Dean sighed deeply. It just kept getting better and better, he thought grimly. And suddenly, he just wanted to cry hard and long for the entire sitaution they were in. What they'd gone through wasn't enough, all the other seperations weren't enough; now he actually had to live without his brother with no chance of any kind of reconcilliation. Instead of crying though, Dean grabbed Sam under the armpits and lifted him onto the bed. When his upper torso was on the bed, Dean lifted his legs and straightened him out. Cas stayed out of the way, knowing his help was unwanted and unneeded.

"I can't let him go again, Cas," Dean said into the silence that followed. "It doesn't work too well for me, and it doesn't work too well for him." He turned to face the angel. "How do we fix it?"

There was a tone in Dean's voice that was final and absolute, with an expression to match. The brothers had agreed before going after Lucifer one final time that the big brother trumps little brother status wouldn't work anymore, that they made decisions on equal grounds, that they were pretty much equal. Dean had accepted it, but it was hard. But the agreement never said they couldn't protect and watch out for each other, and Dean was in full 'big brother is about to kick some ass and take some names' mode.

He was going to fix this for his brother, and for himself, somehow.

**Black-Angel-001: *: Jophiel is a real angel in angelic lore; according to Jewish lore he (although in this it's 'she'...yeah, yeah, what'dya want?) is of the cherubim choir and one of the chief cherubim. He is also ranked as an archangel in several Aramaic lores. In Christian lore, Jophiel isn't named in scriptures but is believed by some sources that he drove Adam and Eve from Eden, which would make him the angel guarding the Tree of Life. so, Jophiel isn't made up, just the personality and gender (because technically, angels don't have a gender).**


	6. Chapter 6

**Whisphers of the Heart**

Dean had a number of people to call. Lissa to let her know he wouldn't be coming home that night, or any time soon, his boss to let him know that he wouldn't be coming in to work tomorrow, or any time soon, and then there was the coach of Ben's basketball team; Dean couldn't chaperone or play chauffer for the Saturday game. All these people needed to hear from him soon but Dean only called one person, and that person was Bobby Singer. Their old family friend ended up speechless on the other end as soon as Dean's excited and somewhat rambled message sank in. Just as quick as the words left him they came back. Bobby assured Dean that he would bring some books and call some contacts, that he would see them soon. It was gruff, whirlwind, take no prisoners and kick some ass Bobby and Dean had never been happier to have him taking charge in some way.

After a short search around the room, Dean found Sam's computer bag with his other things and got to work looking for ways to help his brother. He searched through spells of the new and ancient variety, crystal and herb methods, cultures, and even some of the New Age stuff. He found a Native American ritual that looked promising as a temporary fix, but nothing long term popped out at him. Every so often, Dean found himself looking over to Sam layed out on the bed, still, unmoving, and Dean ignored the similarities between that moment and the moment from years ago in an old ghost town. Instead, he focused on the facts that Sam's chest was moving as he breathed, that every so often his eyes shifted behind his lids, that he was warm and alive. Eventually, Dean moved so that the chair was facing Sam's bed, his legs were propped up on the edge, and the laptop was sitting in his lap, so he could watch his brother better.

Cas hadn't left yet, choosing to remain on the opposite bed in case Sam needed to be put back to sleep in a hurry. So far it hadn't been necessary, and Dean was thankful for that. Every so often, the angel would cock his head like he was listening to something, then sigh, but otherwise didn't say a word. At least not until early the next morning and he threatened to put Dean in the same state as Sam if he didn't willingly go to bed. With some grumbles and choice words, Dean moved his brother over enough to slide into the bed next to him, needing the reassurance it brought.

When he woke up, he couldn't be sure what time it was; the heavy curtains were drawn, letting very little light through. He wasn't near the clock so he couldn't look at that. For a minute, things were back to before the time of deaths, deals, Hell, and Satan. It was just Dean and Sam, out on another hunt with no worries past what they had to do and how to do it. Then the minute passed and Dean was back to Dean and Hell ridden Sam, with Dean, an older hunter, and an angel the only ones able to help Sam. With a sigh, Dean sat up, rubbing his hands over his face with a sigh. Castiel wasn't in the room anymore, and Dean had a moment of panic. What if something happened with Sam and they needed the angel there?

There wasn't anything Dean could do about it, so he left it alone; he'd deal with it when it came. He went into the bathroom to wash up a little, then went back to the search, ignoring the growling and rumbling of his stomach.

When Dean cared to look, the clock read 2:45 pm. He groaned and stretched his arms above his head, wondering how his brother managed to stay stooped over the computer for so long with no kinks. A low sound came from the bed and Dean froze. Was he waking up? Would it be Jadon? Or a terrified, screaming Sam? Cautiously, Dean lowered his arms and leaned forward. Sam rolled from his side onto his back and blinked his eyes open. A frown crossed his face. Ever so slowly, like he was approaching a wounded animal, Dean stood and crossed the room to stand near the bed, ready to do whatever his brother needed.

Sam stared at the ceiling a little longer before his eyes cut to Dean. Recognition flared in the hazel orbs and Dean felt his chest loosen and something flare inside that he hadn't felt in a while.

"Hi," Sam said softly, barely a whispher of sound, like he was afraid being any louder would cause something to disappear.

"Hey," Dean said just as quietly for different reasons. His voice was thick with emotion and he had to blink rapidly.

Sam turned his head so he was staring at Dean completely, and didn't say anything else, just studying his older brother like he would never see him again and had to memorize every feature. Suddenly Dean realized that it was himself that Sam was afraid of disappearing.

"I wonder how long you'll be here before I go back there," Sam whisphered and Dean's heart clenched.

Carefully and deliberatly he sat next to his brother. He reached out and brushed Sam's bangs from his forehead and Sam leaned into the touch with a sigh of profound relief and joy.

"What are you talking about, Sammy?" The corners of Sam's mouth twitched upwards briefly.

"Sometimes I'm able to see you, but only when I'm dead. Then I go back and it starts over and over again." His face contorted into pain and desperation. "Will you stay, please? Don't leave yet."

His little brother sounded like a small child again, begging Dean or their father not to leave him alone, to keep the dark and monsters away. Dean gave a watery smile, continued to brush back Sam's hair, and shifted so his hip was touching Sam's side to provide even more contact.

"I won't leave Sammy, I promise. I'll stay right here with you. I'm not going anywhere, I gotcha little brother," he murmmured softly, speaking promises like he had dozens of times before and meaning them all over again. Dean wouldn't leave until Sam told him to, and even then it would take an act of God or whoever to maybe accomplish it.

Dean kept stroking Sam's hair and whisphering reassurances until Sam's eyes closed and his breaths evened out. Even after he was asleep, Dean stayed like that for as long as possible.

**Black-Angel-001: reviews are like buttery barrels of sunshine and rainbows of love...please send them to me! :)**


	7. Chapter 7

**Whisphers of the Heart**

It was the need to help Sam that made Dean get up and move back to the computer, starting his search again with new vigor. The message light was blinking on his phone, and Dean went through them rapidly, deleting anything that wasn't from Bobby or one of his contacts. He didn't have the time or patience to listen to Lisa's ranting or his boss's groaning. He kept his phone on silent so it wouldn't bother Sammy and otherwise ignored it.

Hours passed and still nothing appeared that would help. Dean was frustrated, and near the point of tears. Sam was so much better at this, could always find just what they needed no matter what the situation. Well, almost always. The sound of fluttering wings didn't register with Dean. When a hand went to his shoulder in a gentle way, he reacted like he'd always been trained to: he jumped out of his chair and spun quickly, gun raised and held steady center mass on the threat. Training also prevented him from pulling the trigger right off; always be sure that what you're shooting at is your intended target, his father had said repeatedly. It was that constant reminder that kept Dean from blowing a hole in Castiel.

Not that it would have mattered in the end anyway.

Castiel wasn't overly concerned that Dean was pointing a gun at him; it'd happened before and at any rate, it wouldn't have killed him. The angel nodded his head to his friend as Dean lowered the gun and went back to the computer.

"Has he woken up," he asked, moving back to his spot at the bed.

"For a little while, yeah," Dean replied, looking back to Sam. The younger man was beginning to move restlessly, making sounds of pain. Cas reached over, touched his forehead, and Sam settled back into that still sleep from before.

"And?"

It took a little bit for Dean to get the words out. "He thought he was in Hell, but at the dieing point." Dean knew that point very well, but how different was it for Sam, since he had his body?

Castiel nodded even though Dean couldn't see it. "Have you found anything?"

"Just a ritual for temporarily clearing bad memories, but nothing else...yet," Dean added with strong conviction. He was going to find something to help his little brother, no matter what. "What about your end?"

Castiel hesitated, shook his head. "Jophiel is no longer so certain about the method she discovered earlier."

A chill settled itself in Dean as he worked through the implication of that. "So, what, she's giving up? She pulled him out of Hell, scrambled his memories, then after a failed attempt at helping him be Sammy again, she's calling it quits?"

"No, Dean. Jophiel isn't giving up or quiting."

Dean looked back over to the angel. Cas was staring at Dean with strong conviction in his eyes, a promise to help until there was nothing more to try and even beyond then. It made the chill dissipate and he couldn't help but wonder how he'd ended up counting an angel of God as one of his closest friends.

"Where were you, anyway?"

"I was checking to see if a contact I had found anything that would help Sam." Before Dean could ask the results, Cas shook his head slowly.

"Damn it," he fumed. Anything he could find for memory removal, change, or dimming was more along the lines of dark magic and voodoo; Dean's training and finer instinct refused those possibilites in all shapes and ways. His lesser instinct, the primal one that would do anything it took to help his brother, was trying to figure how to make it work, what he would have to do to succeed. There was no way Dean would give in to the primal, lesser instinct...at least, not right away.

But there was nothing. Nothing in the way of helping Sam and it tore at Dean in ways he hadn't experienced in a while (five months, three weeks...) making him want to shoot something, burn something, do something other than sit in front of a computer with nothing. There was a sudden and sharp realization that this had quite possibly been Sam's state of mind when he'd been trying to get Dean out of his deal. It didn't make him feel better to understand, just made him a bit sadder about how it all turned out. But Dean didn't linger too long on those thoughts, or else he would sit in the chair and brood. He'd already taken his brother's role in the research department, only temporarily he swore, and had no wish to take the emo position.

A break. He needed a break. Dean repeated it to himself, glaring at his legs to get up and work. They refused to cooperate. A few seconds more of glaring and willing with the same results. Dean exhaled a breath forcibly and scrubbed a hand over his face, then through his hair and finally rubbing his neck. He couldn't do it. He couldn't get up and go get something to eat, or some coffee, or even step out the freakin' door. He wasn't dumb, he knew why he couldn't. The mind numbing, drop-your-heart-to-your-toes fear that Sam would be gone when he got back. It was ridiculous since Cas was there to watch him and keep him safe and Dean did trust the angel to do it, but Dean trusted himself to do it better. With a low growl Dean surged to his feet. Cas watched him knowingly, a silent promise in his eyes that the hunter acknowledged with a nod. He grabbed his cell phone and stepped outside.

He couldn't put it off and punched in Lisa's number, waiting for the ring. It was after five rings that she answered, with a terse, "Hello."

"Lisa," he said simply, not sure about what else he should say.

"So you finally decided to call huh? Did it just now occur to you that maybe you should have told me before you skipped out of town?"

"I'm still in town," he said, looking back at the motel door as if he could still see Sam inside.

The little bit of silence doesn't last long. "What? Where the hell are you? Why haven't you come home yet? Dean, what is going on?"

"Lisa, Sam's back."

There's a sharp intake of breath. "Dean," she says with pity and Dean can't stand it.

"No, he is. He really is back, and he needs help. I'm going to help him Lisa." The hard edge is a promise to her and himself.

"Then what? You're going to leave us again? Go halfway across the country and maybe give us a call when you happen to think about it?"

"I'm sorry," he says and he is. He's sorry that even though he's happy with them, when they're getting along, he can't be completely happy. When he told Lisa back when it was really going to shit that when he thought about what made him happiest it was with her and Ben, Sam was there too. It probably wasn't healthy that so much of his life, his emotions, revolved around his little brother but it had been just the two of them for so long and he couldn't break that. "I don't know what will happen, I'm just trying to deal with this right now."

The silence stretches and Dean has an idea of what's coming. "I think." Lisa takes a deep breath and starts again. "I think it's best if you came and got your things."

It hurts more than he thought it might, but it wasn't really unexpected was it? He loved Lisa, really and truly did, but she expected things from him that he couldn't give. She expected him to give up on his brother on her timetable, she expected him to completely ignore all the evil shit that was out there, to leave the three of them and the house unprotected. She was always expectant that he give something up and when he did as well as he could, she only gave him disappointment back. So really, it wasn't a big shock that he was being kicked out.

"Alright. Give me two hours."

She makes a sound of agreement and hangs up. Dean closes his phone and for a second he's angry that Sam ruined this for him. The second passes as quickly as it came though because Dean knows better. It wasn't Sam's fault in any way; the blame fell completely on Dean and Lisa. They weren't willing to work out their problems, just content to let them lie and fester even when they, Dean especially, knew better. Dean had no one to blame but himself.

Dean headed in the direction of Veet's to grab some food before he went to Lisa's.

**Black-Angel-001: like many of you, i don't like lisa. i think that she's always been in love with her own idea/image of dean and thought that she could change him. so this takes care of lisa. more to come!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Whisphers of the Heart**

Lisa wasn't at the house when Dean got his stuff and really, he was glad for it. He just didn't want to deal with whatever would have happened if she had been. It was quick work to gather his clothes and a few other items; he'd never really 'settled in', too many years of conditioning prevented it. He took one last look around a house that was never really his, or ever really felt like it could be, and left.

The motel room was quiet when he got back, dumping his duffel and the bag of food from Veet's somewhere he could get them later. Cas stared after Dean as he moved around the room, Dean ignored him, and Sam continued on oblivious to the world. He ate because he had to, then went back to the search. A few contacts had emailed him some information and Dean went through them one right after the other, hoping for something, anything, that would work. Bobby called once he hit the halfway mark, asked how things were, then hung up, leaving Dean once again with his own thoughts.

Dean fell asleep beside Sam again, because he needed the rest. When he woke up, it wasn't as disorienting as the last time. There wasn't any light through the curtains, he'd moved the clock earlier, and could easily see the time. Only two hours had passed since he layed down and Dean rubbed his eyes hard. He shifted to get up, but froze when he saw the other bed. Instead of just Castiel sitting there, a woman was sitting next to him, conversing quietly. Cas turned and frowned at Dean.

"You should sleep some more," the angel informed him. Dean snorted and stood, stretching and popping bones.

"Can't, got things to do." He turned to the woman who was staring at him thoughtfully. "Who's your friend?"

"Dean, this is Jophiel, the angel who brought Sam out of Hell," introduced Cas with a rather formal tone. Jophiel inclined her head in greeting.

Dean's eyes lite up at a thought. "Did you find something to help Sam? Is that why you're here?"

"I don't know if it will help, but I do have something," she said in a sweet voice. Her brown eyes flicked over to Cas. "Castiel? Would you mind going to get the items I told you about?"

Cas stood. "Of course." Turning to Dean, he said, "I'll return shortly." With that, he was gone.

Dean stared at the angel he was left with before resuming his position again at the chair. They stared at each other for a long while until Jophiel broke the gaze and turned to Sam. Some auburn hair fell over her shoulder and she brushed it back as if out of habit.

"So...who exactly are you 'borrowing'?" And didn't Dean feel like a bit of an ass for that bit of wording?

"I'm not. Angels who are powerful enough can create their own apperances and still keep their power from hurting humans," Jophiel explained.

"Then why didn't Michael and Lucifer...?"

"Even though they had that power, they still needed hosts to have complete use and control of their abilities." She looked at him. "It takes a lot of concentration to appear like this and they didn't have the luxury of that." She looked back to Sam.

Oh. Well, it didn't exactly make complete sense, but it did make a kind of sense so Dean let it go. He turned his attention to the laptop, looked at a few sites, and alternated between watching Sam and Jophiel. She kept watching his brother with a thoughtful expression, like she was thinking extra hard about something. Dean could only hope it was a way to make Sam okay.

"He is okay," she said somewhat suddenly. Dean jumped a little and turned to her.

"What?"

"He is okay," she repeated without a trace of annoyance or irritableness.

"He thinks he's in Hell and is being tortured, killed. How, exactly, is that okay," asked Dean between clenched teeth.

"He knows he's not in Hell," she informed him and Dean blinked. What? "He knows it on a certain level but he can't seem to deal with the sudden change of being there and then not. Of course, Samuel's memories will be horrendous at best once he does realize and we shall have to deal with that."

She sounded so clinical it made Dean on edge. "It's Sam, not Samuel."

For the first time since he'd met her, Jophiel's smooth expression became a frown. "I never understood the reason why humans were so eager to shorten beautiful names, especially those with God in them. I tried to give him a name that was just as good as his given one, but it was difficult. But, I thought it worked very well."

"What? No, it did not work very well! You shouldn't have given him a different name at all! His name is Sam Winchester, just like it's always been, not Jadon Nash," Dean fumed. Jophiel faced him and looked a little offended. Oh, great, way to go.

"Names are important Dean. Not only do they tell others who you are and help you define yourself, they can help you get closer to the divine," she said patiently, like she was explaining something to a child.

"I think me and Sam have had enough of being 'closer to the divine'," muttered Dean. He hoped Jophiel would drop it, but she was persistant that he understand.

"Really Dean, I couldn't give Samuel his real name; it would confuse him badly, mix the old with the new and then he would be a blubbering mess." They were silent a minute. Then, "What's wrong with the name Jadon?"

It was like a child asking why the pet dog died. Dean sighed. "As long as he was Jadon he wasn't Sam."

"No, he was more like an answering."

Okay, when were angels going to learn to speak clearly, without hidden meanings and smoke and mirrors?

This time it was Jophiel who sighed, and that release of air was like all the millenia of her existance had finally caught up. "Like I said, names are reflections of the person, and the meaning of names is important in that definition, just like any other word. The name Samuel is Hebrew, and means 'heard God' or 'asked of God'. I think your brother has more than lived up to that, don't you?"

He didn't reply, but he did agree. Jophiel went on.

"When he was in the darkest bouts of Hell, he prayed," she said softly in reverance. "It was amazing to me that someone could do that. It's not unusal, of course, as souls pray all the time for deliverance but Samuel...his prayers were different. He didn't plead for himself, but instead pleaded for Adam, for you, for your friend Robert, even Castiel. He asked God to keep you from that place. I heard him in Heaven and it...the human spirit is not something I completely understand."

Dean was in shocked wonder. His little brother had prayed for his family and friends? He'd asked for God to take care of them, rather than to ask God to be taken out? He smiled at Sam, still sleeping.

"That was why I thought Jadon would be appropriate," Jophiel went on.

"Why's that," he asked, voice a little thick.

"It means, 'God has heard'."

Yeah, that was appropriate, not that Dean would ever admit it. "What happened to Adam?" Dean felt like a douche for not asking earlier, but at the time he'd been trying to deal with Sam's unexpected return.

"He was sent back to Heaven with his mother. It was what he wanted the most."

More silence. Dean searched again and Jophiel continued to stare at Sam. Her eyebrows furrowed.

"May I ask you a question?"

"Why not, you will any way," Dean said under his breath.

"Why don't you let your brother continue on as Jadon Nash," she asked and it was like a punch in the gut.

"What?"

"As Jadon, he has a good job, a woman he loves, and a good future. As Samuel, he has broken memories, a brother who is almost as broken as himself, and enough guilt for three lifetimes. Wouldn't it be better to let him live the rest of his life as Jadon?"

Dean searched her eyes, but didn't find any cruelty; she was honestly curious and didn't mean any harm.

"Even if his life is better as Jadon, I know for a fact that if he had a choice, Sam wouldn't want it. Sam wanted to come back to me, I'm sure of it, and that means that you can't decide for him any more than I can," Dean said.

"Fair enough," smiled Jophiel. She went back to watching Sam and he went back to the computer.

Dean didn't know how much time had passed since Cas left, but it was much later when he returned, carrying a two large bags and looking a little harried and rushed. The sight of a disheveled Castiel was enough to make Dean snicker, but he said no more. Cas set the bags at his feet and inclined his head to Jophiel in greeting.

"I have everything you asked for," he told her.

"Wonderful." Jophiel stood. "Shall we go and try this spell then?"

**Black-Angel-001: so this was a BS chapter but we're getting somwhere now. the name samuel does mean what is up in the chapter, and has an interesting history which i won't get into here. the book i have on names says that jadon means 'god has heard' but in other places i've found different meanings...i like this meaning better...and in case you were interested somehow, 'dean' means 'leader'.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Whisphers of the Heart**

**Black-Angel-001: this will be ending soon i think if the way things are playing out in my head are correct...**

**Whisphers of the Heart**

They decided to wait for Bobby to arrive before they went to start the ritual spell; an extra pair of hands would help, along with his knowledge of spellwork. Mostly though, Dean refused to not have his support; he needed Bobby there in case things went wrong. Bobby understood that they had something that may work for Sam and that time was essential; the full moon wouldn't last forever and that was when the spell needed to be completed.

Jophiel spent the time arranging herbs, crystals, and candles, appearing and disappearing as she went ahead to prepare the area. She instructed Dean and Castiel to wash Sam in salt water, then holy water, and for Cas to annoit him with holy oil. It was a purification process that Dean had never heard of before, or come across in his internet searches, but followed the angel's instructions precisly. Once Sam had been washed and annoited, they waited.

Dean's gut was clenching painfully in anticipation and fear. Jophiel had explained how the spell would be worked, and the risks. Everything about it was designed to purify and repair. The only variable was what it purified and repaired; the way Jophiel told it, the spell could latch onto the demon blood in Sam and try to 'fix' it, which would kill him. The herbs and crystals were specific to what they wanted to aim the magic at, the memories, emotions, and the 'stench' (seriously, that's what Jophiel said) of Hell.

The thing that got Dean wasn't so much the maybe this, maybe that (although God knew that wasn't helping) but the fact that even if the spell did what it was supposed to, Sam died anyway. If his mind couldn't handle it, then it would shut down and his body would follow.

If he didn't burst into flames first. Again, seriously what Jophiel said.

When Jophiel stopped popping in and out, they sat down with Bobby on speakerphone to discuss the plan; they were going to be hard pressed for time as it was, and every little bit helped (really, where did the angel find this stuff?). The actual words of the spell were in Latin, which any of them could read. It would be Jophiel's job though, leaving Castiel on gopher duty and Dean and Bobby to provide the emotional and moral support once the ritual was over.

It had taken Dean a little while to actually understand the process of the spell, but after multiple explinations by Jophiel and Cas, he got it. It would happen in a place of power and protection (Jophiel had chosen ley lines in a fairy grove), blessed and prepared in a certain way. There was a special circle Sam would lie in during the ritual, surrounded by candles etched with symbols Dean had never seen before and dipped in holy oil and herbs. Crystals and other herbs would be between the candles to direct the spell. While the words were read, Sam's mind would be purified and healed to the point it was a clean slate. There wouldn't memories of Hell, the past five years, or the years before that. Sam wouldn't remember Jess, Bobby, Cas.

Or Dean.

That was where he and Bobby came in though. Jophiel theorized that if the two men communicated with Sam during this time, Sam would remember everything again, except in a less intense way. She thought it would work because Sam was able to take control of Lucifer by his memories of his time with Dean, the good times. Bobby was confident it would work, Dean not so much. He wasn't confident in his ability to bring his brother back, based on when Sam said yes to Lucifer; he hadn't been able to get through to his brother until he was bloody and badly beaten. If this didn't work, Dean wouldn't be any better off. Well, maybe a little; he at least had the assurance that Sam would be in Heaven if he died this time.

But all those thoughts became nothing but static when Jophiel stood up and looked, for the first time, the imposing, powerful, and in control angel he was sure she was in Heaven. Her gaze was determined, cool, and confident and Dean didn't flinch from it, instead staring back with his own confidence only a big brother could have in himself and his little brother. Dean would help Sam, and Sam would help Dean help him

Yet again, they would help and save each other.

With a nod, Dean stood and kept his eyes on his brother even as Jophiel popped all of them to the fairy grove and he couldn't see anything.

**Black-Angel-001: the spell is totally made up. i have limited and amature knowledge of spellwork or anything like it. if there is a spell that could be this one or like it, i have no knowledge of it and make no claim on it.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Whisphers of the Heart**

The grove was quiet when they arrived, still. Over the place where Dean could see the candles and other items laid out were branches of great oaks, stretching and leaning, protecting the area in a way that seemed almost tender. Outside the grove were smaller oak trees, birches, elms, and pines, standing a silent guard. There were some flowers and mushrooms around, most in fairy circles that they all avoided carefully, and Dean could feel the power and peace of the place. The sound of footfalls told him that Bobby had arrived as well. Dean watched Castiel carry Sam to the circle, making sure that he wasn't jostled or moved in a way that would hurt. When he was laid out in the circle, hands at his side, feet slightly apart, head tilted to face Dean, Jophiel completed the circle of candles, stones, crystals, and herbs, saying words softly with each placement. Bobby squeezed Dean's shoulder, earing a grateful nod in return. Then they stood back watch and wait.

Jophiel stood at Sam's feet, Cas just to right of her, and made some hand gestures with grace and precision. She sprinkled water mixed with more herbs into a flame, repeating the Latin spell like an expert. As she progressed, the words became more passionate, louder and stronger. A wind picked up and rocked the branches of the oaks but otherwise didn't disturb the fairy grove. Jack-o'-latern lights began to float up and flutter around them, never touching them just hovering. The flames on the candles flickered with each movement of Jophiel's hand in a way that wasn't natural. The cirlce Sam lay in took on an ether-real glow, illuminating his still face.

Sam's body jerked roughly, head arching back, mouth open as if he were silently screaming and eyes wide and fixed on nothing that could be seen by anyone else. His arms, legs, back, and head continued to arch and contort, jerking frequently. Dean refused to look away, silently willing Sam to ride it out, mouthing that it would _be over soon, just hold on Sammy_. But when blood began to stream from his nose, mouth, and ears, Dean lost his ability to stay still and out of the way and surged forward. Bobby gripped his arms, holding tight and away from Sam. While Sam continued to convulse and move in ways that would make chiropractors wince and shudder, Dean whirled around to confront what was keeping him from his brother, his bleeding brother and _God _why was he bleeding like that?

Jophiel added another herb mix to another flame and the crystals glowed. Amethyst, opal, diamond, lapis laazul, tiger eye, and others Dean couldn't identify began to cast a warm light that spread over Sam, stilling his body in a grotesque form. He was still bleeding, more profusely and also from his eyes now, and the crystals didn't seem to touch it. Then whatever concoction was under the multiple grouping of stones burst into flames itself, making the light grow in the crystals and, subsequently, over Sam. Slowly, his body relaxed and fell back to a loose posture, eyes closed and mouth still slightly open. The blood had stopped completely and Dean's little brother looked peaceful, not in pain.

Actually, Sam looked a lot like he had when he was about a month old, before the cruelties of life, demons, plans, and the world had come and kicked him in the ass, repeatedly. With Sam out of any obvious and immediate danger (for the moment) Dean stood back, arms crossed tightly to try and keep some of the energy he was feeling bottled up, although his leg tapped with that same energy. Bobby kept a careful eye on his young friend.

Cas handed Jophiel something, which she threw over Sam with another series of hand gestures and Latin words. The full moon offered a soft illumination and seemed to center on the grove. The wind became more aggressive, this time being felt through the entire area. Sam began to twist again, face already in a grimace. Jophiel said the words rapidly, forcefully, a fine sheen of sweat on her brow testimony to the exertion.

Then it stopped.

The candles flickered out, the light from the crystals and burning herb mix died, and the glow from the circle faded out. Even the wind and jack-o'-laterns were gone. Everything had come to a sudden and complete halt, leaving Dean and Bobby confused, and scared, and the angels concerned. Sam was totally still. It was that stillness that had Dean lunging toward his brother and this time no one stopped him. When he got close, he hesitated about breaking the circle, knew there could be serious consequences if it wasn't done right, but the hesitation barely registered on a time scale. In a hot minute, he was knocking over the candles and piles of crystals and stones and who knew what else and leaning over the one thing that really mattered out of the whole mess.

"Sam? Sammy!" There wasn't a twitch, sigh, or sign that Sam had heard him. Dean put a hand on his brother's chest and paused, eyes wide and full of denial. Sam's chest wasn't moving with breaths; his heart was pumping in a steady way, or a fast way, or even a thready way: it wasn't pumping period. Dean moved one hand to Sam's neck, the other to one of his wrists. There wasn't a thrum of life there, either. He put his ear to Sam's mouth and nose, his own features crinkling at the strong smell of copper and didn't feel any puffs of air.

"Sammy!" Dean shook Sam roughly, watching as he moved limply with the harsh treatment. "No. No! Don't you do this, don't you _dare_! You can't-!" He put his hands together, positioned them like his dad had taught him, and pushed down in time with his heartbeat, a steady count kept under his breath. When he reached thirty, he breathed into Sam, then started the compressions again.

"Come on, come on, come on," he repeated in time with the counts. He breathed, then pushed, all the while encouraging and cursing Sam.

"Please, please, Sammy. Give me something here, anything! You can't, not after everything. You didn't come back from that Hell-hole to die like this! Please, Sam, you _stubborn asshole_!"

His arms were getting tired, his shoulders hurt, and his own breath was puffing and gasping. Sam didn't rouse, didn't tell him to shove off. He moved bonelessly with the CPR, his chest rose. But his eyes didn't open, his heart didn't beat. Dean kept going, ignoring the angels and old friend, the cold that crept up as the night grew deeper and it hit the witching hour, midnight. He ignored how there wasn't a single sound in the grove besides his own labors and voice, and he definetely ignored how that voice was cracking with despair and lost hope.

Then he stopped just as suddenly as the ritual had. Dean sat back on his heels, arms falling uselessly to the side and chest heaving as he stared at Sam's face. Something warm was running down his face in a complete counter to the cold air and Dean didn't care. Carefully, he lifted Sam's upper torso, craddled him close, his face tucked into the crook of Dean's neck and shoulder, and Dean held him tightly. Sam's body was cold and a little stiff and Dean buried his face into Sam's hair. You couldn't hear him cry, or see his face, but you could tell from the way his shoulders shook that Dean Winchester was greiving and for more than just his dead brother.

**Black-Angel-001: don't hate me, don't kill me, don't be mad in any way! this is a good thing...really.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Whisphers of the Heart**

**Black-Angel-001: because i can't let you go on for too long without knowing our dear sammy's fate (and because my thought hamsters won't allow me) the next chapter.**

**Whisphers of the Heart**

He was deep under water. He couldn't breath. There was no light, no warmth, no cold. There wasn't anything but the water that pressed around him on all sides and the current that dragged him along and made the water deeper, darker. He let himself follow the flow, not having the strength to fight against it. He couldn't recall anything before the water and couldn't seem to find the ability to be scared by that. Was it worth it to try to remember, to be worried by the loss of memory? He let go of the wanderings and continued on with the current.

A murmmer. A sound. Something he couldn't really comprehend or hear. The farther away he drifted, the harder it became to hear and that bothered him for some reason. For an unexplainable, unknown reason, he wanted to know what that sound was. He pushed against the current a little, testing. The water didn't give easily and he didn't really move. He tried again, harder and surged against the flow. In the briefest of moments, the sound was loud and clear: a voice. Curiosity came over him, making him burn with the need to know. Who did the voice belong to? Why were they calling him? Were they important? Did they know him? He wanted to find out, had to find out to satisfy that curiosity inside that flared.

He pushed against the current in strong strokes, pushing harder and harder and harder when the current pushed back. The going was difficult, nearly impossible at times and he paused many times, thought about quitting. But the curiosity about who it could be was too strong and stubbornness helped him kick and move his arms. The current began to slow and it was easier to swim through then there was stillness. Absolute, complete and total stillness in the water, his body, the sound. The voice was gone and he felt disappointed; he'd fought so hard for nothing? He let himself sink a little into the water and the murmmer started again. He started slowly towards the surface to hear better and while it got a little louder, it wasn't by much and it wasn't clear what the words were. The tone was clear though and he almost sank back down when he heard it.

Despair, hoplesness, great sadness. He heard those things clearly and wished he could do something about it. He concentrated on what was being said, or tried to. It was broken, muffled and hard to hear. Like the swim back to that point though, it was curiosity and a stubborn attitude that kept him going.

_-mmy, remember that?_

It faded out again and he went a little closer to the surface.

_..so excited...-opped...cream..._

It took him a long time to realize that he knew that voice, those tones. He knew that person better than he knew himself and tried harder to listen, to remember whatever the voice could give him.

It seemed to take forever. Little flashes, impressions, faces.

Eventually he could put names and words to everything that flashed by. At the same time, the water was vanishing, disappearing as if going through a drain. As the water left, he got warmer and warmer and warmer. The absence of cold and heat was no longer an issue and he felt like he might be on fire. When he looked, there was no fire to be seen, despite the growing heat and feel of flame flickering near by. He twisted, or tried to, and made a small sound, barely audible. The fire was growing, he was so hot and God where was...

Fire burst over him, spreading and grabbing at everything, eagerly and greedily. His wide eyes tracked the flames and his mouth opened, closed, with no sound coming out.

Suddenly, his body surged forward and one word left his lips.

"_Dean!_"

He was back in Hell, it felt like. Dean stayed in the clearing holding his brother for what felt like forever when in reality it had only been ten minutes. Eventually the growing stiffness and weight of Sam's body forced Dean to put him down on the ground again but kept one of Sammy's hands in his, using the other to brush hair back from his forehead. It was all so messed up, so wrong. The spell was supposed to help Sam, not kill him. But Dean had lost him again, through a magic ritual he hadn't checked out thoroughly himself, just trusted Jophiel's word. Dean had been insistent and half assed about the whole thing, just eager to get it done and have Sam back.

That was the thing that was most wrong of all.

"I'd always check the street before you crossed," he said suddenly into the quiet. Dean didn't know where the angels and Bobby were, didn't really care. Probably hovering nearby. As long as they didn't try to pull him away from Sam, or take Sam away from him, and kept their distance Dean didn't care what they did.

"You would hold my fingers, because your hand wasn't that big yet. You'd look around at whatever would grab your attention 'cause you knew I'd make sure it was safe to cross the road." Dean chuckled humoressly. "Did a bad job of that for a couple of years now, and I'm sorry for that Sammy."

He looked at the ground, studied a blad of grass vaugly before his lips twitched in a smile before he could help it. "There was this time, back when we were 'bout, what, ten and six. We went to the circus for the first time ever with dad. Yeah, it was for a job, but he actually let us watch the show. The acrobats were your favorite Sammy, remember that?"

Dean shifted so he was more comfortable on his knees. "Then there was another time, on your birthday, we stopped at Marble Slab ice cream. Dad was in a rare really good mood, and you'd never had the stuff before so..." Dean laughed a little. "You were so excited you dropped your ice cream and Dad gave you his." The only reason he'd managed that was because Dean hadn't been able to do it first.

He kept talking, knowing Sam probably couldn't hear him but hoping that somehow Cas would be able to get these memories to Sam in Heaven, so he could have them there. Dean called up every memory he could, from childhood to adulthood, from the fourth of July in a field of Nowhere, USA, to the night Dean went to Stanford to get Sam. He could count that as a good memory, couldn't he?

Dean reached out again to brush back Sam's hair, knowing it was one of the few things that could comfort Sam all through his life. He paused when he felt Sam's forehead. It was warm. Dean frowned and pressed his palm against the side of Sam's face where he felt the same warmth. He knew enough about dead bodies that they got colder, not warmer. He felt his little brother's neck, his hand, even his chest. Sam was getting warmer and warmer, like he was getting a fever.

Then he just barely twitched.

Dean had been tuned to his brother's movement since he'd been born and knew every time Sam moved. So he was sure that he was seeing Sam's eyes move behind his lids, mouth barely opening and closing.

Sam took a deep breath, then was surging up to a sitting position, eyes wide and open, one word coming out of his mouth in a panicked shout.

"_Dean!_"

Dean was in motion so fast he almost gave himself whiplash. He wrapped an arm around Sam's chest when he started to sag forward, the other around his shoulders. He could just barely hear Sam's harsh, gulping breaths over the sound of his own heart pounding in his ears. The hand on Sam's chest moved until it was over his heart and Dean felt the lub-dub reapeat. Sam jerked involuntarily, then pulled himself up straighter, head swivelling around to take in his surroundings and looking for something.

His eyes locked onto Dean's face and stayed there, intent and focused.

Dean swallowed hard and rough. "Sammy?"

"Hey Dean," Sam said with a small smile. "Found ya."

It was what Sam always said when he found Dean during a game of hide-n-seek and Dean blinked back against tears.

"Sam, are you okay," he asked because he wanted to know, had to know.

"Tired, slightly confused," Sam replied with another look around. It was a brief inspection and then he was locked onto Dean again.

Dean pulled Sam to him again, an imitation of no more than thirty or so minutes ago but with one huge difference. This time, Sam was alive and returning the embrace, clutching at Dean's jacket as fiercly as Dean was clutching at his.

For the first time since they arrived at the grove, the sounds of the night filled the air.

At the hotel again, Dean sat with Sam on the bed farthest from the door against the headboard, shoulders firmly touching. Every so often, they would look over at each other and smile softly when the other caught them looking. Bobby had continued to stare at Sam, smiling widely and wiping at his eyes every so often. Castiel had actually given Sam a brief hug, looking a bit embarressed by the whole thing. Jophiel had looked relieved.

"I'm glad it worked so well," she said after the chick-flick moment had passed.

Dean gave her an incredolous look. "'Worked so well'? Sam died, like honest to God died for an extended period of time. How the hell do you not have any brain damage from that, by the way. Any more than usual," he ammended with a grin and _man _did it feel good to pick on his brother again!

Sam rolled his eyes good naturedly, wincing only a little from it. "I told you Dean, I don't know."

"That was because of the crystals. It all actually went according to plan, Dean. I was worried for a moment, but-"

"Woah, woah. Wait a sec. Sam dieing was according to plan?" Dean slowly stood from the bed and a little ways away from Jophiel. 'What plan are you talking about?"

Cas cleared his throat nervously and shuffled a bit, trying to look anywhere but at Dean and Sam. Dean's gaze whipped around to him. "Cas?"

"We did..._modify_ the ritual a little when we told you about it," the angel admitted, looking at Dean with the expression of a child who'd just broken a window with a baseball.

"Modify how," Bobby asked for Dean because he was too stunned (read that as angry) to speak.

Cas looked at Jophiel, practically begging her to answer instead of him.

"I told you that at a point, Samuel's mind would be completely blank, and that was when you and Dean would have to talk to him, or else he would die."

Bobby nodded, Sam looked on with tired understanding and Dean held still; he was afraid of what he might do otherwise.

"In actuality, the spell does actually kill him. So to speak."

"It DID actually kill him! So to speak," Dean sneered back to the angel. She didn't look disturbed or worried or even sorry and that pissed Dean off to a whole new level.

"Why don't you tell us exactly what the spell was supposed to do," Sam said from the bed, voice full of exhaustion. Dean backed down enough to stand near Sam again, eyes never leaving Jophiel.

"Certainly Samuel. The circle, words, candles, oils and herbs were designed to purify, like I told you," she said to Dean. "The crystals and other herbs were also designed to focus soley on Samuel's memories, also like I told you. Samuel could very well have been killed by the crystals failing, or his body could have burst into flames. I told you that."

"Yeah, I got that part," snapped Dean. "I'm more concerned with the part you didn't tell me." Sam's fingers brushed against his hand and Dean backed off (again) just a little.

"I didn't tell you that if the ritual was successful up to that point, then Samuel really would die. Sort of."

"How do you 'sort of' die," Bobby asked in that dry way of his. "You either are or you aren't."

"Sam was in a state of limbo," Cas said, apparently feeling confident enough to join in. "He can't go back to Hell because Heavenly powers are preventing it, but he couldn't get into Heaven either."

"Exscuse me?" Sam's grip tightened on Dean's hand and Dean spared a moment to frown at his little brother. He hadn't shot the angels yet, so he figured he was doing great on the whole restraint thing.

Sam just raised his eyebrows and Dean rolled his eyes.

"A person's Heaven is based on their memories, remember," Cas continued as if the unspoken conversation had never taken place. "Because Sam had no memories, or rather, had his memories blocked, there was no Heaven."

Not in Heaven, not in Hell, just...there. The idea made Dean's gut clench at the wrongness of it. Sam's hand tightened again for an entirely different reason and Dean grasped it back. He'd worry that they were holding hands later, when the lingering memory of Sam twisting and turning in pain, then being completely still and dead wasn't coming back every second or so.

"The entire idea was that during this time, you would be severely emotional," picked up Jophiel, ignoring Dean's glare again. "You would also reminisce about your memories with Samuel, Samuel would somehow hear it, feel it, and make his way back to you."

"And if it didn't work," asked Bobby because Dean didn't dare.

Jophiel kept her eyes on the brothers. "That would be when Samuel burst into flames."

"He'd have been in Heaven, though," offered Cas. Dean looked at him, then at Jophiel.

"So you were hoping this entire thing would work based on Dean's grief and love for his brother, and Sam's stubbornness when it came to Dean," summarized Bobby. Jophiel nodded.

"You son...of a..._bitch!_" Dean lunged forward and grabbed Jophiel by the throat. There were shouts but Dean's vision had tunneled onto the angel who's eyes flashed once at the threat but otherwise remained relaxed.

"You fucking knew this would happen! You were counting on it and you didn't tell me! I'm fucking sick of being jerked around by you angels!"

Jophiel stayed still. "If I'd have told you, you wouldn't have gone with the plan."

Dean let go. It was true, he knew it and so did everyone else. He would never have agreed to the ritual knowing for sure that Sam would end up dead with a slim chance that he could come back. Dean would have fought against it and demanded they find something else while Sam stayed in that 'between' angel sleep, tormented and tortured for what could have been years. The truth of that made Dean sit back with Sam on the bed, tyring to process the entire night, the past few days.

**Black-Angel-001: -creeps out from hiding place with a white flag- so ya see, sammy's alive! and if you follow the reasoning of the spell, it was totally necessary for him to die so dean could bring him back, hence it was a good thing! see? no more angry readers now, right? -chuckles nervously- i'd hoped to finish with this chapter, but it obviously isn't happening..one more i think, with all the brother love you fangirls (and guys, if you're out there) could want! **


	12. Chapter 12

**Whisphers of the Heart**

The boys finally had the room to themselves; Jophiel had gone back to Heaven, they pressumed Cas had followed (or maybe he was close by), and Bobby was in another hotel room nearby. For a while, they just didn't seem to know what to do with themselves as the past few hours, days, weeks, months caught up with them and they tried to deal. Sam went through his things, finding no trace of the lawyer he'd been as Jadon Nash or anything to indicate that Jadon had even existed. Dean watched him, and they were quiet for a long time. It didn't seem like they should be, it felt like there should be noise, some kind of talk going on between them but the silence remained.

Sam was going through his laptop and Dean was flipping through the cable when Sam said, "So, when are you going back to Lisa?"

Dean's thumb paused for the breifest of seconds and he stole a glance at Sam before resuming his channel flipping. "I'm not."

"What?" The laptop was forgotten as Sam turned to face Dean, confusion etched on his face. "Dean, I thought that you-"

"Yeah, well, not anymore." Dean kept flipping and heard Sam swallow.

"You shouldn't have given it up," he said quietly. "You could've stayed out for good, been happy with a family."

"I didn't want it like that." Dean finally tossed the remote away and sat up straight in the bed. "I didn't want to go to Lisa period!"

The anger in Dean's voice took Sam aback and it showed. "Dean-"

"You know how hard it was to agree to you saying yes to Lucifer? How hard it was to watch him walk around in your body, with your voice? Or when you jumped into that hole? The last thing on my mind was a 'normal apple pie life', Sam!" Dean stood and began to pace, running a hand over his face. "And you asked me to leave it alone? Made me promise to not even look for a way to get you out? What the hell was that huh? How could you do that to me, Sam?"

"Because I know you Dean." Sam stood, watching his brother as he moved. "I know how you are and how you get."

"You shouldn't have taken away my choice," Dean finally shouted. It was what made him the angriest, when he let himself think about it. Sam had backed him into a corner in that little brother way of his and Dean, left with basically no other options, had gone out the only door he had, Lisa. "You didn't let me decide-"

"Decide what, Dean?" Sam spread his hands out, palms up. "Decide wether to break the cage open again and this time end the world for good or to kill yourself? You would've done one or the other, man and you know it!"

"But I could still choose for myself! I could still pick what I wanted, the whole freakin' world in Hell's handbasket or to be down there with you!"

Sam's anger evaporated into that understanding look that made his eyes go soft and gentle. It was a look that he'd given many witnesses, used to calm them down and get information. Dean didn't always like when that expression turned his way because it usually lead to chick moments for one, and for another it usually meant Sam was going to say something profound and meaningful.

"And which would you have picked? Huh, Dean? You open the cage, world end's, you can't live with yourself because of it, and end up hating yourself. You kill yourself, you end up back in Hell and we might not have even ended up on the same level so you end up going through...that again for pretty much no reason." Sam stepped closer, hands moving presuasivly, trying to get Dean to understand. "I remember how you were after Dad died. You pushed me away alot, yeah, but you needed someone to be there, Dean. You needed someone to help you get up in the morning and get on with it."

"I didn't want to, not then and not after that." And damn but if it didn't feel like his eyes were filling up with tears. "I couldn't stand how everything seemed to move on when it was like I was stuck." Dean had to turn away for a second to get himself under control and he could hear Sam trying to do the same.

Finally, he heard Sam move a little closer, close enough to feel his body heat and Dean closed his eyes. "Dean, I just didn't want you to wander around in a drunken stupor every day, or to do something really stupid. I wanted to make sure you were going to be-"

"I swear Sam, if the word 'okay' comes out of your mouth, I _will_ punch you," Dean growled turning back around. The corners of Sam's mouth twitched up in a humorless quirk of a grin.

"No, I wasn't going to say that. I was going to say, make sure you were taken care of."

They stood in silence for a while longer, thinking about things said and unsaid and trying to figure out where they stood with each other.

Sam swallowed and opened his mouth. "So."

"So," Dean replied.

"You left everything here, I've got nothing left from that life as Jadon...what do we do now?"

Dean shrugged. "Sleep would be my first choice."

Sam made that face Dean privately catalouged as his 'bitch face'. "Dean, we need to figure out what we're going to do. Go back to hunting, find jobs-"

"No way am I working a 9 to 5 again," Dean interrupted with a shudder. "Hunting hours are brutal, but at least they make sense to me." He sat on the bed again, hands between his knees and eyes studying Sam. "Let's go to the Grand Canyon."

"What," Sam half laughed out. Dean grinned.

"Yeah, let's do that. The Canyon, Yellowstone, whatever else we can think of. Just...hang out."

Sam gave him a skeptical look. "And no hunting?"

"Well, maybe a salt and burn." Over Dean's dead body...for the time being. "But play tourist like we kept talking about all those times."

He watched as Sam thought about it, turning it over in his gigantor brain to go with his gigantor body, and Dean couldn't help but feel what a miricale it was. Sam was back, really back, and they were together again. He knew what Sam's answer would be when that slow smile appeared.

It wasn't the time before death, deals, Satan, and Hell. It wasn't just Sam and Dean hunting something. Things had happened, words had been said, actions had been taken. Their lives had been screwed over multiple times, by themselves and others, and there was no going back from any of that. There would be memories and nightmares to deal with on both their parts, things that would have to happen, words that would have to be said, action that would have to be taken. Deatails were non-existant at worst, sketchy at best and problems still had to be tackled.

Eventually.

At the moment though, it was just Sam and Dean, Dean and Sam...and that was the best they'd had in a long while.

_**FIN**_

**Black-Angel-001: and that's it! hope you enjoyed the ride and the end of it as well. i also hope you'll be around for another supernatural adventure, once i get the details ironed out. until then, peace, love, and long life!**


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